


hold on, darling

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:39:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3351908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1946 and Fitzsimmons go dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold on, darling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SuburbanSun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/gifts).



> For the lovely Amy. I really hope you like the direction I took this.

_New York, New York_

It's 1946 and they're standing together in a crowded room.

She plays with the sleeves of her dress, looking uncomfortably around the hall at all of the couples that have begun to sway to the beat of the song the band on stage is playing. He finds himself staring at his feet and not at the girl dressed in the loose-fitting blue dress before him. They’re standing awkwardly in the middle of a dimly lit ballroom, watching a tall woman take the hand of a man much shorter than she.

Never had either thought they would have to take dancing lessons, especially not for a mission.

She offers her hands to him and he takes them with his own, a slight tremor passing through them as he holds her. Whatever tune the orchestra had been playing ceases when the woman begins to talk. She announces that they are going to be waltzing. Fitz’s face turns as red as the lipstick on his partner’s lips. Jemma gushes to him; she’s always wanted to learn how to waltz.

“Mum never had the chance to teach me before I got the job at the SSR.,” Jemma says in a soft voice as the woman instructs for the orchestra to begin a much slower tune. When they notice the other couples beginning to follow the instructor Jemma asks him, “Are you going to lead?” It’s not exactly a question, but more of a prompting for him to catch up to the other couples.

“I think you should.” He doesn’t look at her, but finds a point just past her to stare at. He doesn’t want to see her reaction.

While the woman banters on about the box steps, Jemma begins to open her mouth to argue. “Fitz, those are not the personas we designed for this mission.” Her voice is no more than a whisper in his ear, her chest pressing against his. Their hands are clasped, but rest awkwardly at their sides. They’re swaying together with uncomfortable rhythm, neither one following the instructor with much care.

It’s a good thing they’re in the back.

“Fine.”

Fitz drops her hands only to retake them with the proper gripping. He steps forward with his leading foot, then takes a step to the side. They’re pacing doesn’t match with what the orchestra is playing but neither seems to mind. As they complete their little box steps, the music ends and the woman tells them to take a two minute break before they will begin again.

Jemma’s face is ever as bright when Fitz let’s go of his hold on her. “We were dancing!” She beams, pulling him back in for a short hug. The other couples around them do not take much notice, lost in their own chatter. Soon they are told to take hold of their partners once more, the orchestra starting back up and the woman in front showing off the next steps with her own partner. Fitz leads Jemma with much more confidence this time.

That evening, Jemma waltzes around the small kitchen area of their shared apartment. Fitz is sitting at the table, turning the dial on the little radio in front of him. He pays little attention to Jemma’s movements. The tune that was previously playing is replaced by one of Dick Haymes newer songs. Jemma stops her dancing, turning to look at Fitz.

“I wish you’d find something more upbeat,” she complains, walking over to the table he sits at. She takes a seat across from him, propping her elbows on the table and letting her head rest against her hands.

 

_Keep us so near while apart_

_I'm not alone in the night_

 

Fitz keeps his head down, face blushing red as he quickly turns the dial in search of a new station. Haymes’ smooth love ballad is replaced by a jazzier song, one that both seem to appreciate. The blush leaves Fitz’s cheeks and he looks up to see Jemma smiling at him. She tells him that it’s much better.

“Of course, it’s not a bad song..” Jemma doesn’t continue; Fitz understands.

The clock on the wall chimes ten, dissolving the awkwardness that has settled in the air. Fitz announces that he’s feeling tired. Jemma rolls her eyes and wishes him a goodnight as he gets up from the table and begins his walk towards the small sleeping area. Their sleeping area is nothing more than two twin sized beds pushed close to one another.

(Jemma still wonders why they don’t just purchase a queen-sized bed.)

It’s not long after that Jemma too makes her way over to the little sleeping unit. Fitz is well into his sleep, but still Jemma wishes him another goodnight before crawling into her own bed. Her dreams are sweet, filled with rhythmic steps and excitement for what tomorrow will bring.

She’s the first to wake in the morning, and is in the process of cooking the pair of them breakfast when Fitz finds a seat at the table. He offers to help, Jemma dismisses him and says she’s fearful that he’s only going to burn the room down. “And I quite like this wallpaper,” she adds, pointing her spatula to the blue and pink floral walls.

Fitz gives a muffled “Fine,” before picking up yesterday’s paper off of the table. He busies himself with an article he has already read as the scent of pancakes drifts into his nostrils.

Jemma finishes the cooking and sets a plate in front of Fitz before setting one down for herself. She tells him the tea will be ready shortly. He thanks her, and she smiles in return.

When the clock chimes eight, they’re already rushing out the door and down the stairs to the main entrance. They leave the apartment complex with quick feet as they make their way down the street. It’s a short walk from their building to the SSR headquarters, and neither have broken a sweat when they pass through the doors leading to their stations.

“Three minutes to spare!” Jemma tells Fitz, looking at the clock on the wall, as they move to their respective desks.

Jemma opens the file on her desk, beginning to read it over with a fine eye. She quickly becomes distracted by the chatter that emerges around Fitz’s desk. She hears her name mentioned more than once, as well as the sound of noises she deems completely inappropriate.

A look at Fitz tells her that he too is uncomfortable with the words of their coworkers. Though, he gives a shrug of his shoulders and tells them they should get back to work. Laughter sounds, but they begin to disperse to their own desks.

Jemma spends her day answering phone calls, scribbling hastily against a piece of paper as callers (many of them anonymous) leave them tips on local crimes. When lunch time rolls around she does her best to keep chipper as a she takes a pad of paper and a pen around the office to collect orders.

When she gets to Fitz, he doesn't answer her right away. When he does open his mouth to speak, he does not give her an order. Instead he says to her, "Why don't you let me take over, Jem? I already finished all my paperwork and I'd just be sitting around until the boss gets back."

“I don’t mind it, honestly. It gives me a chance to visit the lab once and awhile.”

Fitz gives her a look that says he knows she’s lying. Jemma sighs, expressing her thanks to him as she sets down the paper and pen. She then tells him she has just the lab and the third floor left to do. Fitz nods and stands from his desk.

“Thanks again,” she tells him as he begins towards the door. Jemma walks back to her seat to finish organizing case files.

It’s busy work, she knows it is, but still completes the tasks before her with absolute precision. One day she hopes to find herself showing up to work and putting on one of the fancy lab coats. For now, she stacks and takes lunch orders and answers phone calls.

She hears someone approach her desk and keeps her nose buried in the case file she’s on. When it’s a friendly voice that speaks to her, she looks up.

Antoine Triplett stands before her in his usual neutral-colored button down and brown suspenders. He’s smiling, walking over to stand beside her. “You ready for tonight?”

“Not really,” she admits, keeping her eyes fixed on him. “I have a fear that Fitz is going to mess up the steps, or I’m going to slip up my well-rehearsed persona. There are over 100 possible scenarios as to how this could go wrong, Trip. I don’t think I’m prepared for half of them.”

Trip tells her not to worry, giving her a pat on the shoulder before walking back to his desk.

The rest of the day passes by with little activity, and soon Jemma and Fitz are being called into the conference room for final mission briefing. The head of their division keeps his hands tight over his chest, looking on the two with a stern expression.

“We’re taking a chance with sending you two; don’t mess this up.”

“You won’t be disappointed, sir.” Jemma tells him, forcing a smile. Fitz gives a nod of agreement.

“I’d better not be.”

He finishes briefing them, going over the plan in elaborate detail before releasing them to return home to ready themselves. They are to take a cab straight to the Stork Club where two other agents will already be waiting. The plan unfolds from there. The boss gives them a final good luck, and the two then leave.

The walk back to their apartment complex is filled with an air of both awkwardness and nervousness. Neither form coherent words as they walk in the fading light of the autumn evening. Jemma plays with the buttons on the sleeves of her coat, while Fitz looks anywhere but at the girl beside him. They enter their room in silence, Jemma walking to the alcove where she keeps her clothes and Fitz taking a seat at the table.

Jemma takes a long red dress off of one of the hangers and walks to the bathroom. With the door shut, she takes a look at herself in the mirror. “I can do this,” she tells the reflection. “It’s going to be.. _swell_.”

She dresses herself in a haste, the red dress fitting nicely against her figure. Jemma then rummages through the shelves adjacent to the mirror, searching for a bit of makeup to fit her persona. Finished, she steps from the bathroom to find that Fitz has already changed into his black suit and tie. She doesn't question this.

"Wo - wow, Jemma. You, uh, you look nice." His words are quiet, and when Jemma does pick them up, a blush spreads wide across her cheeks.

"You can tie and tie." She jokes, walking up to him. "And you look sharp."

They stand before one another in silence, neither looking directly into the other's gaze. They're nervous, overwhelmed. They're each standing in front of their best friend, looking at them in an entirely new light. Neither were prepared for this.

"Well, Mr. Thomas, shall we leave?" Jemma takes on a posh, upscale American accent and moves to loop her arm around Fitz's.

He allows her to do so, giving her a nod as they depart from the apartment and down the stairs. They hail a cab once outside, and soon are traveling to the Stork Club in Manhattan. As expected, two men with slicked back hair and black suits wait for them outside the club. Fitz leads Jemma in first and minutes later the other two men join them. They show their cards, fakes made for them by the SSR, and saunter in with poise.

Inside, the band plays a quick-paced tune, their sound spreading throughout the different rooms. Jemma leads Fitz to the main floor and begins to time her steps with the woman beside her. She’s faking confidence left and right; Fitz is no different.

“Oh darling, what a charming evening,” Jemma announces in her posh accent, placing a hand on Fitz’s chest as if for support. “I do wish Billingsley would stop by to say hello. I’m his favorite customer.” She tosses her head back in a laugh, bringing her arms around Fitz’s neck.

(He does his best not to blush.)

They dance through another song, before Jemma gives him a little nod. They walk off, her arm looped around his, towards the entrance to The Club Room. A man they call Saint Peter stands at the entrance, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Jemma unloops her arm and walks up to the guard.

“Eliza Thomas,” she gives a wink, “Mr. Billingsley should be expecting me. I do hope he hasn’t forgotten about me.” She begins to look at her nails while she waits for him to make his decision.

He tells her she can enter, but dismisses Fitz. “Mr. Billingsley doesn’t like.. _complications_.”

Jemma tries not to look at Fitz, not wanting to see the panic in his eyes. She gives a nod to Saint Peter and enters The Club Room, leaving Fitz to improvise.

Sherman Billingsley, the club owner, is kneeling beside a table, showing off a necklace to a woman in blue. Jemma doesn’t approach him right away, but finds an empty seat at one of the tables. She greets the two men at her table, but doesn’t say more than that; her eyes remain on the owner.

Meanwhile, Fitz walks back to the dance floor, catching the eye of a short female dressed in a soft pink dress. He gives a little wave, not conscious of the blush on his face. She, in response, turns her head away and gives a bashful snicker. Fitz’s hand falls back to his side and he walks in the opposite direction as the girl, keeping his eyes fixed on his shiny black shoes. The girl doesn’t pursue, and Fitz finds one of the other agents assigned to the mission. He decides it best for him to talk to a familiar face than try his hand at dancing alone.

In The Club Room, Jemma’s conversations are dull. When Billingsley does walk over, she reaches a hand out towards him, speaking his name in an almost seductive tone. “Don’t you remember me, dear?” She bats her eyelashes once or twice.

Billingsley studies her, eyes locating on her chest. Jemma does her best not to groan; in her head she’s already plotting how to make him pay for that look. “Of course I do, sweetheart.”

She gestures for him to lean into her, “Care to take this to your office?” She ignores the hand the club owner places on her shoulder. A smile crosses her painted lips when he agrees. “Meet you there in ten?” Jemma asks, giving her lashes another flutter.

Billingsley nods and Jemma gets up from the table. She doesn’t give him another look as she leaves the private room. She smirks to Saint Peter before going to find Fitz. He’s standing by the staircase alone, observing the scene around them; Jemma walks up to him and greets him with a kiss to the cheek.

“How’s the evening, James?”

“Quite charming, Eliza.”

Jemma takes hold of his wrist and pulls him underneath the spiraling staircase that leads to Billingsley’s office. In a hushed voice, she leaves the character of Eliza Thomas behind. “I convinced him to meet me in his office in ten minutes! I cannot believe I actually did it; I didn't mess up or lose character or anything! Also, sorry about the, uh, little kiss. We’re technically married in this scenario so -”

“It’s fine, Jemma."

“Brilliant. Anyways, you should go up first and get stationed. I’ll walk up after you, then wait for him outside the door and lead him in. As long as everything goes according to plan, we should be out of here in no time!” Her voice raises, filled with excitement.

Fitz steps out from underneath the staircase first, taking a look at those around him. Everyone appears to be busy with their partner, swaying along to a slow song the band is playing. There’s no one guarding the door and it hangs ajar, as if Billingsley doesn’t expect anyone to try anything while he’s away. Inside, Fitz finds a place to hide under the large wooden desk, and waits for Jemma to bring the man in. He’s impressed that they’ve made it this far, and he hopes it stays this way.

He’s not sure how long he waits, being unable to locate a clock from his hiding spot. When the door creaks open, he tenses, hearing Jemma’s fake accent as she talks with the owner.

“I’m just saying, sir, not allowing me to invest in a share of the company would be such a waste.”

“No one goes near my company ‘cept me. If that’s all you came for, you can see yourself out.”

Fitz digs his nails into the palm of his hand, bothered by the manner in which the owner addresses Jemma. If it were up to him, he’d have already made his appearance. It’s not, however, and he is forced to remain hidden.

“Why of course not, dear, I’m just getting started.” Jemma tells him, trying her best not to roll her eyes at the dialogue she produces. “Fancy a drink?” She eyes the cart with several half empty bottles of alcohol.

“Make it a Bourbon.” He walks over to his desk, taking a seat at the red chair. Fitz pushes himself as far as he can manage against the side of the desk.

While Billingsley looks over a stack of papers on his desk, Jemma prepares his drink. She's not sure which of the unlabeled bottles contains his drink of choice, and chooses the second one on the left. She sets down the little bag she’s been carrying with her this evening on the cart and pulls out a clear vial with a bit of blue liquid in it. There’s another vial still in her bag, but she much prefers this one; it’s the one she made. The other came from the SSR lab. With Billingsley barking orders for her to hurry up, Jemma quickly opens the vial and slips two drops of the blue liquid into his drink before closing it back up and placing it back into her bag. She leaves the bag on the table and brings him his drink, a little smile on her lips.

It doesn’t take long for the substance to kick in, and soon the owner of the Stork Club is slumped over his desk in a deep sleep. Hearing the thud of Billingsley’s head against his desk, Fitz pushes out of his hiding spot.

“How long do we have, Jem?” He asks her.

“Twenty minutes, I’d say. I’ve never actually tested it out on anyone before.”

“Oh.”

“Well don’t just stand here, help me find it.”

The item in question is an envelope said to contain plans for a new nuclear weapon more detrimental than the ones used on Japan. Billingsley is said to have it in his possession after receiving it from an anonymous client. Rumor has spread that he's to pass it along to a man named Dmitry, a scientist working against the SSR.

Fitz begins to move along the walls, feeling for an opening that may lead to a safe. Jemma sifts through the drawers of the desk. She's gotten through the second one on the right when Fitz calls her over.

"I got it."

He has pulled back a piece of the paneling on the wall, revealing a little back safe inside the wall. He pulls out a little device from his inside coat pocket and begins to pry it open from one of the sides.

"His combination is 27-12-00."

"How do you know that?"

"Because it's written on his desk."

Fitz looks at Jemma with his lips slightly parted. "Oh," he says as he puts away his pick. He steps out of the way for her to try the combination and isn't surprised when it works.

Among other things was the envelope, labeled in neat print to a Dmitry Azarov. Fitz picks it up and places it in the inside of his coat. Jemma closes the safe.

"We did it," she brings him into a hug, excitement overwhelming her.

"Now we just have to get out of this room."

Jemma releases him from the hug and takes a step back, pondering. "What if we stage a fight? Like, you're cross with me because you think I was cheating on you with Billingley? It's completely outrageous, but -"

"- it just might work."

"And once we get down there everything will simply become alright again because, if I'm being honest Fitz, I'd really like to go dancing one last time."

The plan is set into motion, like a scene from a poorly written love film. Fitz leaves the room, storming down the staircase with a tight set jaw. He's yelling to her about how she doesn't truly love him.

Jemma rushes after him, assuring him that she does, that it was all just a mistake. "I love you, James."

A few heads to turn to look at them, not many though. When they reach the bottom of the stairs, Jemma takes Fitz by the wrist and pulls him towards her. She gives a little nod to alert him as to what's coming before pulling him into a kiss. She drops his wrist and brings her hands around his neck. Fitz leaves his hands at his side, still not entirely sure as to what's happening - he hadn't understood the signal.

When Jemma breaks the kiss, she sees how red his face is. "Maybe we should just go home. Dancing can wait."

Fitz is slow to nod; a thousand thoughts occupy his mind. Jemma removes her hands from around his neck and offers to lead him to the door.

Outside, one of the other agents waits by the entrance, cigarette in hand. Fitz approaches him, giving him a slap on the shoulder. "We got it," he tells him.

The agent nods and keeps silent, leaving Fitz and Simmons to walk to the edge of the sidewalk and hail a taxi. When they're safely inside, having told the driver to drop them off a block from their apartment, they both break character.

"I'm sorry, Fitz, I shouldn't have done that."

"It's fine, Jemma. It was nothing."

"I kissed you. I should have given you proper warning; I completely embarrassed you and could have compromised the mission."

Their voices are soft as they argue, not wanting the driver to pick up on anything. The argument only grows, however, when they step from the cab and begin their walk to their building.

"You're acting as if it's not a big deal." Jemma begins the argument again.

"Because it's not, Jemma." Fitz stops walking, forcing Jemma to stop as well. He closes his eyes briefly before turning on her fully. Jemma doesn't have time to react before this time it's him kissing her.

It's not a long kiss, lasting no more than a few seconds. It's broken by the sound of someone honking their car horn at them as they drive down the street.

"You -"

"See, Jemma, not a big deal." He walks on, finding their building and walking up the stairs to the front door.

Jemma rushes after him, wondering aloud how that was not a big deal. He ignores her until they are inside the room where he has no choice but to listen.

"You kissed me and now you're playing it off as if it were nothing."

"Because it was nothing. I was proving my point."

"Friends don't just do that, Fitz."

"Why can't they?"

"It's not conventional."

They continue to argue until words are slipping from Fitz's mouth that Jemma thought she'd never hear. No matter, soon she's crying and burying her head against his chest.

"You could have told me," she says against him.

He protests this, saying she knows how much he hates change. "I'm sorry."

"Please stop apologizing. You make it seem like you've done something wrong."

The argument flattens out and both are confessing that they'd rather just go to bed. That night Jemma joins Fitz on his mattress, her arms draped around his waist and head resting against his upper back, near his shoulders. It's not the most comfortable, but they're content.

 

In the morning, the first thing Jemma says to him is, "Maybe we _should_ get that bigger bed."

"Jemma -"

"Because you're telling me that you slept comfortably last night, Fitz?"

Fitz blushes, completely misunderstanding the girl's reasoning for wanting the bed. "We should, uh, probably get ready to leave."

"You're probably right."

When they enter their office in the SSR building, a round of applause is given to them. Several kissing noises are also made. Jemma pushes past them to her desk, trying to keep her head down.

"Don't you all have work to do?" She asks them.

The men clasp Fitz on the shoulder or on the back, congratulating him on finally kissing a girl. The second agent had witnessed their entire scene in the club last night and couldn't help but share it with everyone else.

Fitz casts a look at Jemma and she shrugs. Both prepare themselves for the longest day of their lives.

 


End file.
